


Five Times Somebody Got Bit...

by Sonora



Series: Werewolf!verse [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (mentions of it), Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pack Family, Polyamory, Slavery, Werewolf Turning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.How the pilots in Herc's pack became werewolves.





	1. Herc

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten a few requests and have a few ideas of my own, so I thought I'd throw them together into one little group of stories.
> 
> (and whoops, found some het under the couch.)

“So how you boys want this?”

That’s classic Sasha; no preamble, no niceties, the fuck-you always implied. 

Herc grins as she saunters into their room, thumbs hooked into the waist band of her flight suit. Her bleached blonde hair is swept into its normal braids; Herc’s never been able to tell if that’s the wolf or the pilot in her. She is who she is, and who she is is a born wolf. Siberian. Old world. And of the four who graduated with the Class of 2015, the only one who initiates fellow pilots into what she calls _the house of the moon_.

Aleksis closes the door behind them, smiling a little at Herc.

He’s never gotten the whole story about who, what they are to each other. Aleksis is a born wolf too, that much Herc knows, spent some time in prison, has a few highly suspect tattoos, but that’s about it.

“You’re both joining us?” Scott says, that stupid apprehension still in his voice.

Sasha smiles at him, her lipstick that now-famous bright red, and kisses Aleksis on the cheek. “He is my beta. You understand soon. But you must calm yourself, or this could go badly.”

Scott’s rooted, like a kangaroo in the headlights. Afraid. Definitely afraid. Can werewolves actually smell fear? 

Herc isn’t sure what Sasha’s picking up from his idiot little brother, but he sure as hell can feel it through the drift. For all his party-boy reputation, and his couple of brushes with drug use, of the two of them, Scott’s the one who’s been most fearful of taking the plunge. It’s been coming and going the last few weeks. Since Herc suggested that it was long past time. 

He usually wins the argument. Scott’s quite a bit younger than him, after all. Practically raised his brother himself, after all that bullshit with their old man.

“Where do you want us?” Herc asks. “Lady’s choice.”

“I am bitch, not lady,” Sasha says in a voice that may or may not be teasing, and lifts her face, sniffing. “Where is Charlie?”

“He’s not here,” Scott replies, testy. “Sprog’s only fourteen.”

Herc resists the urge to punch him. “He’s at a friend’s for the weekend. Hope that’s okay.”

Sasha shrugs. “Your choice. But better for whole family.”

“Safer?” Scott asks pointedly.

She shrugs again. “ _Niet_. Wolf or man, Herc is still father. Little pup will be alright. But easier, younger, bite him now.”

“He can make that choice when he’s older,” Scott says.

“Oi, that’s enough. You’re bein’ rude now,” Herc snaps, thoroughly sick of this argument, and gives Sasha an expectant look. “Where do you want me?”

This whole time, Sasha’s been surveying their tiny sofa, in their tiny, thrown-together living room. All Sydney did for them was knock down a couple of walls to give them a bigger room, and it’s a mishmash of patched flooring and furniture they bought downtown against orders. Charlie’s home is strewn everywhere. Now, she points at the sofa. “Sit.”

“That’s it?” Herc asks, flopping back on the sofa, smiling back. He’s thirty-seven, one of the oldest jaeger pilots in the PPDC, in the world, and this is more than overdue.

He wants it.

He’s wanted it from the first moment he heard about it, the image of Sasha shifting in the Kwoon burned into his memory, the idea of being part of this ancient pack moving something deep inside of him he never before knew existed. Something primal. Something essential. 

Scott doesn’t, but Scott wants other things, things that they both know they’ll share as wolves, even if it isn’t anything Herc can even bring himself to contemplate now. And Scott knows that absent this, Herc’s body is being beat to shit by the conn-pod. The older Ranger in the Corps, and one of the only human ones left, and it’s starting to show. Lucky’s a good girl, and it’s not her fault that she’s a beast to drive, but it’s the way things are and there’s no escaping it. 

They need Lucky. They need this war. They need each other. They need to be there for Charlie as he grows up. 

And it’s not like Herc isn’t scared, too.

At least two pairs of pilots have died from the Bite. 

It’s not without its risks.

Which is why Charlie’s not here right now. If this works, if Sasha - who will be his alpha from now on, a sort of commanding officer, if he understands it right - allows it, Herc can bite Charlie himself. (The Born are all of them, to a wolf, extremely hesitant about such things. It can lessen the magic. Be ineffective. Unpredictable. More dangerous. The Gages won’t even consider it. So Sasha issues the Bite out to everyone herself.)

As if she can hear his thoughts, Sasha’s smile softens a little, more fond, less vicious. But when she speaks, her mouth is full of fangs. Her eyes are gold. Her features change, face lengthening and sharpening. Half shift. “You say, no big ceremony, no party like some.”

“I don’t,” Herc replies, and pats his lap. “So let’s go.”

She sniffs as she comes over, straddling him, the hard muscles of her inner thighs gripping him, her hands stroking down his chest. “You are beautiful man, Hercules Hansen,” she murmurs in his ear, her voice slightly changed now. Herc can feel himself starting to get hard and wonders if this is arousing for her as well. “I look forward to seeing you in my den, when you are pack. But I think your brother is too, eh?”

“He’d rather have me human.”

“You will both see,” Sasha says softly, and lifts his face so their eyes meet, “mother goddess made a mistake with you. You both should be born to the moon. But I fix this mistake.”

“Sounds lovely.” Herc knows his heart is hammering. He doesn’t care. He can barely feel it. He’s not scared. “Why don’t you show me now?”

Laughing, in full view of both Aleksis and Scott, Sasha kisses him. On the mouth, on the cheek, around his neck. 

Herc’s been with a she-wolf before. A few times. It’s always a heady experience, that combination of preternatural strength and feminine charm absolutely intoxicating. To have one on his lap right now, grinding into him, is reminding him of just how good it can be, and the fact that it’s _Sasha Kaidanovsky_ , that this is the day he finally gets to feel what he’s been dying to feel...

So okay. 

Maybe he tugs the zipper down on her flight suit.

Sasha pulls back from those kisses, face decidedly human again, flushed with desire. She smiles, fey and dangerous. “You sure you can handle me, little human?” she teases, touching one long finger to the tip of his nose. One hand is still around his neck, fingers soft but steely. She could crush the life out of him in a moment, Herc knows. So this is him, giving his life to an alpha wolf.

It’s way sexier than it should be.

“Don’t you wanna know the difference?” he challenges. It’s been a long time since Herc’s felt this bold with any woman, but this is Sasha, and she’s giving him what he’s wanted for so long, and it’s either this or start laughing. “Don’t you want a taste of me as human?”

“Your cock will be much nicer as wolf,” she says with an almost sigh, but rips his shirt in half anyway. 

Oh yeah. They’re doing this.

Dimly, behind him, Herc hears soft talking, the sound of the bedroom door being opened. Hopefully the right bedroom door. Hopefully Scott has better sense than to let Aleksis fuck him on Charlie’s bed. But right now, he’s got his arms around Sasha’s trim waist, swallowing her gasps as he scraps his blunt fingers down her back, pulling the uniform away. 

She arches against him and then pulls away, pulling her undershirt off and tossing it away with a hungry little growl. Her fingers dig into his short hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat, all but attacking the stubbled skin there. He traces her ribs as he moves from waist to shoulders, stripping her black silk bra off after a few fumbling attempts at the hooks. Herc sucks air hard as he gets his hands around her pert tits, thumb tweaking one small pink nipple. She yanks his head closer, and he takes the hint.

Hand still supporting the firm flesh, he licks across that little nub, sucking at it lightly. Fuck, her skin tastes good Herc thinks, goes to work, tongue and lips and teeth, free hand mimicking his movements on her other nipple. 

Sasha rakes her nails across his scalp every time he nips, muttering in Russian. She’s moving, but Herc doesn’t care. He holds her tighter than he would a human woman and continues his assault, until her thighs are bare against his khakis and he can feel wetness grinding down against his painfully burgeoning erection.

Looking up, he can see; she’s naked. Hair down. Dark tattoos here and there, a few with meaning obscured in whatever code the Russians use amongst themselves, a black and white design of wildflowers and pinecones on her left hip that disappears behind her knee and around her back. Everything is interrupted by at least five deployments’ worth of circuitry burns, little pink ridges on her winter-pale skin. Against his lap, her pubic hair is soft, short and dark, little curls that seem too gentle against the feral hunger in her gold eyes. 

Interestingly, she has those tell-tale whiskery stretch marks on her belly. Nothing in her file about being a mother. Not a word from her. He wonders, but this hardly the time to ask.

“Lay back,” she says, already manhandling him where she wants him to go, and he realizes it’s an order.

“Whatever my alpha wants,” Herc tells her, stretching back flat on the couch.

“You should be alpha,” she coos at him, fingers roaming, taking in his scarred and banged-up torso. Most of the damage is under the skin, torn muscles that aren’t repairing themselves like they used to, older injuries catching up. “Take out Echo Saber pilot. I never like him. Beat him bad and take his place. You will look good with blood in teeth.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says and trails a finger down through those little black curls, curving up into her dripping pussy. “But what can I do for my alpha right now?”

She hums, letting him play a bit, bracing herself and rocking as he slowly penetrates her with two fingers, thumb coming to rest against her clit. Sasha’s eyes flutter back, shivers running through her, and every discreet motion she takes is an agony; his dick is still trapped and throbbing.

“Hmm, you have very nice mouth,” she tells him, not quite fucking herself on his hand. “Very nice fingers.”

“I have a very nice cock.”

“Little human cock. Not even a knot to enjoy,” Sasha chides, and her eyes are smoldering when she looks back down at him. “I want to fuck your face. Make me come, and I let you come.”

He smiles.

She bends to kiss him as she crawls up his body.

Herc curls an arm under and around her tattoo as she settles over him, holding on more for his safety than her stability. The taste of her explodes on his tongue, musky-sweet, with that hint of wildness he’s never been able to identify but seems to be part and parcel of the wolves. It drives his own arousal to dizzying heights. Eagerly, he rims and teases and sucks her clit, making out with with little mound as he gets two fingers back inside of her, prodding and twisting and thrusting. She rolls her hips against his face in a hard, unrelenting rhythm, soft moans of pleasure escaping her as he works her. She’s in control here though, and there’s no doubt about that.

Fingers just right, Herc flicks, and she groans.

Sasha’s thighs are fluttering, movements getting more erratic, voice changing, and Herc drops his free hand to desperately yank open his pants and get a hand around his own painfully neglected cock. He’s leaking, half out of his mind with the way Sasha’s writhing against him, using him for her own pleasure.

A few more hard flicks, a light nibble on Sasha’s clit, and she’s coming hard, the noise she makes somewhere between human and lupine. It’s all the impetus Herc’s overstimulated body needs. He’s pumping thick cum all over his hand, his belly, his pants.

Sasha sways, and he catches her, tucking her in between himself and the sofa, arm over her shoulders, brushing her hair away from her sweaty face. Her make-up is running a bit, but her lipstick is immaculate. Kind of amazing, really, and it would be easy to forget who she is. What she is.

Except Herc can’t. He’s never been able to forget her.

From the first moment he saw her, he wanted what she was.

She eventually stirs, contentment on her face, and expectation.

“We should have taken you at Academy,” she says. “You will be fine and strong. No good, you being human.” She’s already sitting up, already over him. 

“I want this,” he says honestly. “I do, I want...”

“I know what you want,” she murmurs against his skin.

When her fangs finally come out, fully and with such finality, it hurts. Hurts like hell. But it feels kind of good too.


	2. Yancy and Raleigh

“C’mon, don’t want to tell you again. If he was gonna die, he would have done it already. Your brother’s going to be fine.”

Yancy doesn’t want to hear this again. Trevin’s been trying to get him away from Raleigh’s bedside for at least a half hour, and he’s not fucking budging. His little brother looks like a horror movie, mostly naked, a half-dozen bloody towels pressed to the various gaping wounds on his body. Yancy can still see him, crumpled against that tree, right leg twisted almost all the way around, his left arm shredded open to the bone, eyes a bright blue under all that arterial blood smeared across his face and gooped in his hair. Yancy didn’t see the moment of the attack, just caught a glimpse of rough black fur and yellowed fangs before Raleigh got knocked down a hill. Before Raleigh started screaming...

“Hey, look at me,” Trevin says, and lifts Yancy’s face. “Don’t zone out. Stay here with me, got it?”

“Yeah.”

Their rescuer - or jailer, Yancy hasn’t quite decided what the fuck is going on here - nods down at Raleigh and lifts one of the towels. “You see that? Like I said. He’s fine.”

Raleigh’s arm is whole. Skin knitted back together, smooth, with only a faint white network of scar tissue. Even that is fading, as Yancy watches. “What the...”

“Shower time,” Trevin says, and this time, it sounds like an order.

Yancy’s really not sure what happened. He and Raleigh, some of their buddies, were out in the autumn woods with their permits and their rifles and surprisingly little beer, because that shit is getting expensive these days and getting a deer in the freezer was, honestly, more important. Since Dad left, things have been super tight, and a couple hundred pounds of meat would have been a godsend. Except that before they could get their deer, something huge and dark and hulking barreled past them.

It was some feral, starving thing. Hideously strong. It was on them before they could run, knocking Yancy aside in its fury to get to Raleigh. By the time he’d gotten up, run after it, Raleigh was... where he was, the beast ravaging his arm. Yancy had screamed, tried to shoot it, but it was laser focused.

If it hadn’t been for the three wolves who’d raced in like messagers from God, tearing it off and chasing it, lightning fast into the deep forest, Raleigh probably would have died. Trevin had happened along what seemed like just after, but could have been hours, Yancy’s not sure. He’d dismissed anything Yancy tried to tell him, picked Raleigh up like he weighed nothing, and told Yancy to follow.

That was hours ago. Now Raleigh is laying in a twin bed in a stupid-nice cabin, the sheets ruined but his wounds, apparently, healing. 

Now Yancy is being pushed into what looks like the master bathroom by somebody who barely bothered to introduce himself, brain barely functioning.

Trevin props him up against the counter, stepping away to turn on the shower. “It’s been a rough day, huh?”

“Why isn’t his arm shredded? I could see bone...”

“Look, normally, I’d give you some bullshit, but it’s your brother and you’re gonna find out anyway.” Trevin checks the temperature with his hand and steps back, pulling his own flannel shirt off. Like Yancy, his clothes are drenched red. “That thing that attacked you? Werewolf. One of those asshats who’s decided to go feral rather than deal with the human world any longer, looks like, but that just makes him more dangerous. Can you get naked on your own?”

Yancy blinks, not sure if he heard what he just heard. “Did you say werewolf?” And why is Trevin still stripping?

“Yeah, feral. Dangerous. Obviously forgotten that we’re half-man too. Don’t worry. My brother and the crazy Russians’ll make sure he can’t do this to anybody else.” He’s down to his briefs. “You got a water allergy?”

“Why... why are you getting naked?” Things are very confusing right now.

“Because I’m guessing you’re going to need an hand standing up straight,” Trevin says and then grins. “And to show you this.”

He very deliberately takes his underwear off, and Yancy barely has enough time to so not think about how _cut_ Trevin is when Trevin disappears. 

Or rather, when Trevin shifts.

Because there’s a lithe gray-black wolf here. The exact twin of the one Yancy saw in the woods.

He takes Trevin a bit more seriously after that.

+++++

Trevin ends up having to do more than just hold Yancy up in the shower. The boy is completely useless, probably in shock really, and Trevin has to wash him down, scrub the blood out of his hair. 

He does have enough strength to talk, to argue, wanting to know all about what’s happened to his little brother and what to expect and what he should do to make sure the pup’s okay, and Trevin has to tell him to just shut up.

Raleigh doesn’t belong to him anymore. No loyalty to his previous human blood now. Brutal and unadvised as it was, Raleigh’s part of a greater world now, enhanced, elevated, and even if he would on his own choose to stay with Yancy, he won’t be allowed to. The pup’s not even of age, in the human world. He needs to be with a pack. He’s going to want to be with a pack. Some alpha is going to claim him. Chain him up in a den somewhere, metaphorically or literally.

(And Raleigh’s going to like it.)

Yancy takes all of this in stony faced silence - admirable control, for a human, and he reminded Trevin of a lot of his buddies in the service. But after they’re out of the shower, as Trevin’s drying them both down, he doesn’t get to explain that he and Bruce would be willing to take the pup on under different circumstances. They’ve only got a few more months of testing here at Elmendorf, and then they’re getting moved to the new Seattle base.

No, Trevin doesn’t get to say anything.

Because Yancy just explodes.

“He’s my brother! I can’t lose him! He can’t lose me! He’s not even eighteen yet! Last time he ran away from foster care to come home, they punished us by sending our sister off somewhere and refusing to give us her location! He’s the last of my family! He’s all I’ve got left!”

Trevin considers the human in front of him for a moment before answering, arms folded. He knows how he’d feel if he lost Bruce. “What are you asking me for?”

“You know what I want,” Yancy challenges. 

Twenty one and gorgeous and full of fire. He’d make a good wolf. Just like Raleigh’s going to make a good wolf. But Trevin and Bruce both agreed; they weren’t getting involved in that bullshit at Jaeger Academy. The wolf is a heavy responsibility. Not just anyone can handle the power. And yes, Sasha keeps telling them they’re being elitist assholes, but it’s not their fault that their bloodline goes all the way back to the Merovingians and hers is only two generations deep. There are _responsibilities_ here.

Most born wolves won’t bite a human under any circumstances. Any circumstances.

One more reason Bruce and the Kaidanovskies are out hunting down that fucker in the forest. 

The Beckets are damn lucky it’s the weekend, the only time they’re actually up here at the rental.

Trevin sighs. “Yancy, we don’t...”

“Then I’ll find somebody who will,” he challenges. “Somebody else who actually will fucking help me.”

He’s not much of a threat. A tired human boy who’s shivering again, despite the warmth of the water and the thickness of the robe he’s got on. Trevin could rip him apart without a thought. 

Trevin doesn’t want to, though.

He kind of likes this human. And he normally doesn’t like humans who aren’t military.

Raleigh’s half-dozing by the time Trevin goes back to check on him. Acting on new instincts he won’t understand, he keens up into Trevin’s pets, the wet washcloth that’s pressed to his forehead. His eyes are brilliant blue. Trevin finds himself wondering what this one’s going to look like when he finally gets his first shift. He’s reaching, but he won’t let Trevin take his hand.

“Yancy?” he croaks. 

“I’m here, kiddo,” Yancy says, stepping around Trevin to sit down on the wrecked sheets, still in the bathrobe. Raleigh grabs onto him. Doesn’t say anything. Just holds on.

Trevin makes a decision.

He doesn’t run it by Bruce (who is, no doubt, burning a body in the woods right now). He could, but he doesn’t want to risk taking shit off Aleksis.

He leans in, close enough to smell the lingering smell of Raleigh on Yancy’s skin. There was so much blood earlier, any other scent evidence was obliterated, but if these two aren’t fucking now... he kisses Yancy’s cheek gently. “I’m gonna get your brother some juice. He’s lost a lot of blood. We’re still subject to some of the laws of physics.”

“O-“ Yancy begins.

Trevin doesn’t let him finish.

He drops his fangs out in half-shift and sinks them deep into the junction between shoulder and neck, that tantalizing bit of bare skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No porn... next chapter!


	3. Chuck

Really, Chuck knows it's his own damn fault. 

Dad promised him they'd do it on graduation, go for a run at the first moonrise back home in Oz. But there was the party the night before the ceremony where Chuck got way too drunk and spent most of the next day horribly hung over, and then Dad had to do some political PPDC crap with the Marshall the day after, and then there were some last-minute fit tests for the new Mark V they're getting, and then one of the civilian packs in Anchorage lost their alpha and his family when hunters torched their house, and now Dad's out of town, stuck in New York trying to get funding for a second Mark V... yeah, it's two weeks now since graduation, two days until the full moon, and Chuck's fucked up his chance.

Balls.

He's waited fucking long enough, hasn't he?

Not that he won't get the Bite. No, not that. But he wanted it now, to look up at this first moon after graduation and know it's going to take him through his first shift, to join the rest of the pack baying at it, to be there with his father. He'll have to wait now, and he hates waiting.

Chuck has known about the wolves practically since Dad and Uncle Scott joined the PPDC. He never understood why his uncle was so opposed to the idea; being a wolf was fucking ace, as far as Chuck could tell. 

(He always told Dad he was looking forward to being extra-lethal, to be able to talk to Max, to having fur. Dad's a wolf too now, alpha of the Sydney 'Dome, but even that ever-present craving to be just like his old man isn't why Chuck wants the bite. He's never really talked to anybody about it. Too embarrassing. Especially when Uncle Scott was so dead set against it.)

Anyway, he's pretty much resigned himself to waiting until next month, or the month after, or whenever it is the UN gets their heads out of their arses and gives him his father back.

Except that Dad's waiting for him outside the 'Dome. Right outside the gatehouse that fronts on the park Chuck always uses to walk Max, a duffel slung over his shoulder and a little smile on his face.

"You're slacking," he calls. "Normally you walk Max earlier than this."

Max tugs hard on the leash, forgetting all his well-learned manners in favor of getting to his alpha as soon as possible. Chuck lets him go, forcing himself to walk instead. He doesn't want to come across too eager, after all. "Didn't realize you were keeping track of me from New York!" he grumbles, kicking at a clod of dirt as he nears his father.

Dad rolls his eyes, and tugs Chuck close into an embrace that's become very familiar since Dad took the Bite about a year ago; one hand under an armpit, one hand around his neck, nose close. It's not quite a hug, but Chuck didn't get many of those after Mum died (and then, only from Uncle Scott). This is scenting. 

Dad does it with everybody in the pack now. 

"Don't like it when you're not where you're supposed to be," Dad rumbles.

Chuck shivers. "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Reckon so." Dad steps back a bit, but doesn't let go like he normally does. "Two nights to the full moon."

His hand stays on Chuck's neck. Feels good there. Dad's forever holding back on him, never as affectionate with his own son as he is with the wolves in his pack. Because this, right here, is what Chuck wants. Not to be some inconvenient, unwanted human _kid_ anymore, but part of the pack. Part of a family. Respected. Wanted. With a dad who'll touch him with what Chuck can at least pretend is love.

"Yeah," Chuck says, wishing he knew what to say. He feels itchy, same as he always does when they get close to talking about things but the words don't come.

Dad's expression is - as usual - unreadable. "Reckon you and I can head out to the bush this morning. You up for it?" His thumb is a hot, comforting weight against the short hairs of Chuck's neck. "Ready to join the pack?"

Heart leaping, Chuck nods. Once. Slow. 

Dad hands him the duffel, and picks up Max.

+++++

The Sydney Shatterdome maintains, through a series of shell companies and willing surrogates in greater New South Wales wolf community, a nice little property for the full moon. The civilian packs in Australia have never been large, but they are proud of their heritage and influential in their own way, and they help where they can.

A hundred and fifty acres of nearly untouched forest, with only a few scattered structures maintained by them, is the least and the most they can do for their brethren fighting this war.

Chuck was quiet on the drive, and he's quiet now, getting out of Herc's Jeep with something like awe in his eyes. There's nothing special about the place, with its typical wraparound porch and tin roof and battered railings, but Chuck still looks amazed. Like he's five again and still calling himself Charlie and just happy to see his daddy home from a deployment.

Herc had hoped he could give Chuck a bit more time to adjust before his first shift, before the moon forces the change. But things haven't gone the way he wanted them to, and so now they're here, dealing with this last minute.

Chuck doesn't seem to mind, though. 

He's been wanting this practically as long as he's known about it, since the first time Herc shifted for him and explained things.

Really, it would have been safer for Chuck to have Sasha bite him that night, too. But Herc didn't know what to expect. Didn't know if he would live through it himself. Would have ended him, to watch the Bite kill his only child. After, well... Herc understood just how powerful this was. It was hard enough to resist what his instincts were screaming at him with his boy still human. As a wolf, it would have been impossible to ignore.

(Teen wolf pups need a strong hand, firm guidance, and plenty of sex to bleed out all that rebellion and sexual frustration. And from the moment it became clear Angie didn't live through Scissure, Chuck has never once reached out for so much as a hug. Herc didn't want to fuck up his life any more than he had to.)

But Chuck doesn't seem to mind.

Things are neat and clean, furniture prodded back into position, floor swept and mopped, the fridge restocked with what's available. The local veterans' pack does that for them, and in return, always brings a few cases of whatever booze he can get his claws on. His beta, one of the LOCCENT operators, will be bringing that up tomorrow. Normally, the pack would be here tonight, but he's warned them all off today.

This is Chuck's time.

Herc lets the boy explore, Max trundling happily at his heels, get his fill of the house with its massive bedrooms and wide vistas and open space. They have air-con here, but they hardly ever use it, the windows more often thrown open to the night breeze and the wild smell of the stars. Chuck wanders into the master bedroom, Herc's den on the weekends they're here, and just looks around.

He's not a dumb kid. But there are some things they haven't talked about.

Things that made Herc rather unwilling to see him take the bite before now, and only now, so young, because he's fucking earned it.

"There are only three beds," he says, and sits down. Max gives them both a look, and then curls up right at his feet on the floor.

Herc sits down next to him. "Thought you might pick up on that."

"Why only three? Aren't there, like, twenty wolves in the 'Dome pack?"

"Nineteen." Herc doesn't really know how to say this, so he just says it. "Not a need for any more. Some like to sleep outside in their fur, and others like to sleep inside. With each other."

His boy starts flushing. "Like, sleep sleep or, umm..."

"Or sex." Herc, gods help him, likes touching his Chuck, and he can now that they're finally at this junction, so he does. He lays his hand on the back of his son's neck. "There aren't many restrictions on us. Wolves are physical. It's the glue that binds a pack together."

Chuck's eyes get a little wider, his neck a little redder. "So, uhh, do you, umm, have sex with..."

"Lay back," Herc says softly, hand shifting around to press down on Chuck's chest. He's shit with words; this'll be easier. "If you still want this, knowing you might end back up in this bed with your old man."

One deep inhale, the scent of expectation, and Chuck does as he's told.

Some like to go in for massive ceremony. Herc's not about that. He pulled every favor he could, and finally told Stacker to shove it, in order to get here for this, but he doesn't have much planned. 

He knows what he doesn't want to do. He certainly doesn't want to fuck his boy silly on a sofa - that can wait until after the Bite, until after Chuck's gotten comfortable with the idea of having to go ass up for his dad from time to time. Honestly, Herc has no idea how his boy might feel about that, but whatever comes, at least they'll have the bite and their new, still unnamed Mark V to bind them together, and nobody's going to judge him for not bedding his own flesh and blood. 

All he does this morning is murmur a few words of encouragement, press a kiss to Chuck's temple, and sink his fangs into the thick flesh of Chuck's arm. Deep as he can without crushing bone. There has to be commitment to this.

His boy whimpers as Herc's teeth break the skin, then yelps as one incisor hits his bone. His muscles lock up, body starts spamming violently, almost seizure-like, and passes out.

Which is fairly normal.

Which is the only reason why Herc can hold on through it. It hurts, but all birth hurts.

(Max, of course, goes apeshit.)

It doesn't take much to turn a human, if the human will turn. Herc pestered everyone he knows, even the Gages (who still fucking insist they have never and will never do this), for details. But there's not much to tell. Both the Gages and the Kaidanovskis advised against since, since he's Bitten himself, not born, but Sasha said as alpha, he'd have the power. He could command that magic.

Herc doesn't believe much in magic. But he does desperately want to see his boy in fur. 

Chuck's heartbeat races, then drops, breathing erratic and painful. His skin pales, goes clammy, and he's shivering long before he awakes. Max is howling now, no doubt confused by the changing scents and the screams and the blood. Herc scoops him up and sets him gently down on the bed, watching the dog nuzzle and sniff and fuss over Chuck's limp form, as he strips himself naked. 

Clothes banished to the floor, Herc tugs the blankets over them all like a tent, and shifts. Chuck, who's always been fascinated with Herc's big rangy red wolf form, curls into him instinctively, and equally as instinctive, Herc laps at that massive bite wound, cleaning the now-oozing blood away. Max settles, seeing Herc, and satisfies himself with worming in between their bodies. 

But whatever Herc might have feared, only about ten minutes after ripping fang-sized holes in his son's arm, the bleeding stops completely, scar tissue filling in the space and fading already.

This was important to Chuck, gods only know why. Has been for a long time. Probably that thing of his where he always wants to one-up his old man. But Herc's not worried about the motivations. Tomorrow night, the full moon will help Chuck through his first shift. In a few weeks, they'll pilot Striker together. But right now, they're pack, and that's more than they've had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't quite get the sex in there... sorry about the length between updates. Life, you know.


	4. Chuck (part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found some more under the couch...

“Bit Chuck today.”

_How’s he doing?_

“Still asleep, last I checked. Almost five hours now.”

_He’ll be up soon enough. Is this why you’re calling? Still worried?_

“You got any advice on how to deal with it?”

_C’mon, man. Only fresh-bit wolves I’ve ever dealt with were the Beckets, and that was out of our control._

“Different situation.”

Dad’s voice is filtering in from another room; has to be. Chuck can’t see him, can’t feel him, can’t smell him _here_ , even if his scent is still lingering in the sheets. The light is too bright in his eyes. His nose is burning. His skin feels prickly. The whole world feels... off. In a good way. But off.

Hell, he can hear whoever Dad’s talking to on the phone.

Why is Dad talking to anyone on the phone?

_That’s kind of what I’m saying. They weren’t ours, you know? Pretty sure they weren’t virgins either. Would’a kept ‘em, though, if Stacker hadn’t moved us to Seattle._

“You two ever thought about having some pups?”

_Let’s through this fucking war first, right?_

“Bruce, this thing with Chuck...”

Bruce? Like, Bruce Gage? Chuck tries to frown but his face won’t do it as he rolls over in the sheets. He should get up, go see what’s going on. Why would Dad be talking to one of the Gages, unless it’s some weird Alpha werewolf thing? But he can’t move; moving feels all wrong.

Seriously, what’s wrong with his body? 

_He’s not Scott. You’re agonizing over nothing. Are you even actually worried about it? Or do you just think you’re supposed to be? Be honest._

“I’m not going to answer that,” and Dad’s voice is getting louder now, footsteps echoing loud through the hall, Max’s claws skittering on the wood floor beside. “He’s my son, goddammit, and some things don’t change with the Bite.”

_Of course they fucking do. Humans have fundamentally different..._

“I’m gonna have to call you back,” Dad says, in the doorway now, a bit faint.

His thumb hits the off button on the screen. He’s just... staring.

At that, Chuck manages to right himself, and wants to make some smart-ass remark about the Bite and Dad and mistakes and... something, but the words don’t come out.

Actually, all he can get out is a low, sad little whine.

Dad starts laughing. “You always were a precocious thing,” he says, coming over to the bed and tossing the cell away. Chuck whines again, _because why can’t he talk?_ , and then Dad runs a hand through his fur.

His _fur_.

On his neck.

Chuck cocks his head, looking up at Dad for answers. But Dad’s just smiling. “Reckon I should’a expected you to go on and shift on your own, without any prompting from me or the moon or anybody else. You dream about anything?”

Chuck cocks his head the other way. He dreamed about running through the bush, but that wasn’t so unusual, was it? Wasn’t particularly wolfy. He’s got no idea how he’s supposed to communicate like this, but Dad’s hand is still stroking him and talking can get worked out later, right?

“Why don’t we go for a run?”

And that sounds like a fine idea.

Even if Chuck wasn’t really expecting Dad to just strip that stupid motorcycle graphic tee and jeans off, toss them away, wink at him, shift, and dash out the door.

Then it hits him.

He’s a wolf now. He’s _actually_ a wolf. With fur, and paws, and big-arse teeth, and an alpha who might suck at being a dad but seems to take good care of his pack, and a pack...

Chuck scrambles up out of the sheets (and when did he get tucked into the bed properly and all that?) and tears out as best he can, off after Dad.

There’s a big dog door in the kitchen, leading right out onto the back porch. Dad’s waiting for Chuck out there, when he finally gets the hang of this new body enough to get himself out the plastic flap. Dad’s wolf form isn’t the biggest Chuck’s ever seen, lean and rangy, almost dingo-like, but there’s something imposing about him. Something Chuck’s never noticed before. A scent maybe, or the way the light is hitting his fur, but whatever it is, he suddenly feels very, very small.

Dad’s just standing there, ears perked, tail stiff, clearly waiting for something, and the longer he stares, the smaller Chuck feels. It only takes him a second or two to break, and he’s on his stomach, crouched down, whining again. Dad’s still impassive. He clearly wants something; what, Chuck doesn’t know, and it’s so uncomfortable, he finds himself rolling over on some kind of instinct, belly up, head back.

Dad trots over, right in front of him, sniffing. Chuck whimpers, moving a little, but before he can embarrass himself any more than he already has, Dad nudges his neck, teeth grazing the soft skin there. Chuck jerks up, nose bumping against Dad’s, licking his muzzle, like Max always does when Dad’s in his fur.

Dad’s tail wags, body relaxing, and then he whirls, bounding down the stairs and out into the bush.

After a moment’s hesitation, Chuck follows.

The weirdness of the porch fades as he chases his dad through the bush, wheeling around trees and rocks and over the little straggling streams. Sometimes he gets a glimpse of red fur, yellow eyes, but mostly, he can’t keep up. He’s too new and Dad’s too fast, but catching him is hardly the point. The world has never looked like this before; it’s never smelt so full, never felt so bright. Chuck feels wild and out of control and right at home, dirt filling his ears and rocks digging into the tender spaces between his new toes. Dad howls, and he joins in, the sound just ripping out of him at the sheer joy of being out here, like this, finally, _finally_. 

Chuck has no idea how long they run, but the shadows are different by the time Dad leads him back to the house. As soon as he hits the cool composite of the decking, he realizes that he’s aching everywhere, exhausted from working muscles that, before this afternoon, never existed. He’s grateful for the shade, and could easily just collapse right there, except Dad nudges him back into the house.

Dad leads them both back to the main bedroom - why, Chuck isn’t sure. He’s not sure he cares either, because there’s a mirror in closet, and he has a sudden burning need to look at himself.

He was expecting that he would look like Dad. And he does, in coloring at least. That same reddish-brown. His coat is flecked with little bits of gray and black, though, and he’s smaller, thinner, than he was expecting. He looks, well, he looks like a half-grown puppy. He hadn’t been expecting that, how young he’d be. 

“You’ll fill out. New body and all that. If you want fighting muscle, you’re gonna have to put it on the old fashioned way.”

Chuck looks back at Dad, who’s human again. He flicks his ears, knowing he’s asking something but not sure what.

“Rest of the pack’ll be showing up around dark,” Dad murmurs, hand finding its way back to Chuck’s ruff. “Might want to shift back. Talk. Before that happens.”

It occurs to Chuck that Dad is completely naked right now.

There’s something significant about this. He knows that. He doesn’t know how to ask, though, and wouldn’t even if he could speak, so he just bumps Dad’s chin again.

His father strokes his head. “Shift back. Like the Drift, but let yourself rabbit. Grab onto a memory of being human and sink into it.”

It’s a suggestion, but it’s also an order - Chuck knows what orders look like by now. So he closes his eyes and grabs onto the first thing that bubbles to mind.

The night he realized Mum was dead, that she’d died with the nuke that killed Scissure, and wasn’t coming back. Dad was military, so they were spared the irritation of having to stay in one of the shelters, one of the flying squadrons able to spare a couple of cots in the squadron bar. Uncle Scott had been drinking, Chuck had been pretending to sleep, and then Dad came back. Sat down on the cot next to Chuck, laid a hand on his side as if to reassure himself that Chuck was still there, and started crying silently. 

Chuck doesn’t know why that’s what does it. That simple little moment, in the dark, watching his dad, watching the world end... but it’s enough to throw Chuck out of the wolf and back into the human, falling back on his bare arse in an empty closet.

Dad’s hand pulls away, which sucks. “You good?”

“That was,” Chuck says, struggling for a word, “that was better than the sims!”

Dad really laughs at that. “Our Mark V’ll probably be better than a run through the bush.”

“Naw, no way! That was great!”

“Well, get used to it. You’ve got the wolf in you now.”

Chuck looks himself over, and then over at his father, who’s sitting back against the wall now, managing to look both horribly guilty and proud at the same time. “Do I call you Alpha now?” he asks seriously.

“If you’d like. I’m still your father.”

“Yeah. You said that on the phone.”

“Chuck,” Dad begins, like this is a _real_ conversation they’re about to have, and then stops himself. He holds out a hand. “C’mere.”

Chuck frowns - because this is some weird shit right here - but lets himself be pulled closer anyway. Close. Very close. Close enough to touch, for Dad to...

Well.

For Dad to kiss him.

It’s gentle, undemanding, but he can feel the power behind it, in the teeth beyond those chapped lips and the strength in the hand on the back of his neck. Dad could snap him in half without even trying, without thinking. Chuck closes his eyes and just falls forward, into that bare, scarred, naked shoulder.

They are both very naked, it occurs to him. But somehow, it’s not weird.

This is where his alpha wants him.

“In a pack, the alpha has the right to anyone he wants,” Dad rumbles softly, hand still on Chuck’s neck, stroking lightly through the short hairs left by the Academy buzzcut Chuck’s still sporting. “The alpha’s expected to exercise that right. Most wolves get upset if he doesn’t. But you’re young yet. Don’t gotta do anything.”

 _What if I want to?_ Chuck doesn’t say it. 

He just turns his face, and kisses his alpha again.

Judging by the way Dad growls possessively, and grabs him a little bit harder, that was the right answer.

Feels good.


	5. Jazmine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know anymore, and I'm way past any point of apologizing for anything in this fic. It's been sitting in draft form on my computer for weeks and doesn't seem to get any better no matter what I do, so... yeah. So much trash.

Sometimes the Beckets are more trouble than they’re worth.

Bruce has nothing against the pups. Not the fact that they’re currently taking up space in his and his brother’s den, while the PPDC decides what to do with them. Not Raleigh’s nightmares. Not Yancy’s twitchy and uncontrollable shifting, a product of lingering nerve damage from four hours in the Bering Sea. Bruce doesn’t mind their incessant fucking, their need for attention, the fact that both of them wear the bare minimum of clothing most of the time (in fact, that’s a perk).

Bruce doesn’t even mind that the Beckets are wolves - Trevin broke a thousand years of family tradition to Bite Yancy, after all. He gets it. Blood runs deep, and Yancy likely would have found somebody else to do it for him, if Raleigh didn’t go feral and tear him apart in the meantime. It was the better choice, even if they can never, ever breathe a word of it to anyone, especially not their uncle, their alpha, back home.

He does, however, have a problem with this shit.

How they don’t really seem to _get_ wolf culture.

“How the hell is this okay?” Raleigh’s demanding of Trevin. “How is this even legal?”

“We’ve got our own law,” Trevin tells him, and flicks a peanut shell across the table at Bruce. “Right, bro?”

“Wolf sharia,” he jokes. Raleigh’s face twists up, and he sighs. “Minus the genital mutilation and the acid attacks and the pushing people off buildings and all that crap.”

That does not help Raleigh’s expression. “That shit actually happened?”

Now is not the time for Afghanistan stories, so Trevin flicks another sunflower seed at Bruce to shut him up. “Raleigh, honestly, omegas have it pretty good. And most of them want to be here.”

“Most of them?”

“If you’re an omega, it’s because you like getting fucked. It’s not hard to fight your way out of that position, and it’s not a default kind of thing. A lot of packs don’t have omegas. Like, have you ever seen one in a Shatterdome?” Trevin points out, rather reasonably, if Bruce does say so. 

(Their own mom, the favored daughter of the clan alpha and later alpha female herself, spent a few years in that position in her early twenties. Mostly because she enjoyed the attention, enjoyed being pampered, enjoyed the sex. Always said there was something deliciously intoxicating about being the one wolf completely at the mercy of the rest, and yet so utterly cherished. Like being in a near-permanent state of subspace.)

“So this isn’t some kind of slave auction?” 

Yeah. Bitten wolves. Really don’t get it sometimes.

Omega auctions are fun. Rare. Special, even, which is why Seattle’s regional Alpha decided to put one on in honor of the PPDC’s 2018 Fleet Week. At the nicest wolf-owned strip clubs in the area too, so it’s not like anybody’s _skimping_ here. This is some high class shit. 

The current omega is really strutting his stuff between the chrome poles, the crowd howling every time he does that little shimmy thing with his hips. He is ripe for it, the air filled with the scent of his need and... yeah, it’s been a long time since Bruce fucked an omega. They’ll have to get themselves one later. 

“Whoever wants the omega on the stage can go get the omega. If there’s more than one wolf who wants ‘em, then we have a first blood-from-a-bite fight,” Bruce says. “There’s no money being exchanged here, and the omega goes back to their pack in the morning. Everybody has fun. Win win.”

“So why does he have chains on?” Raleigh asks.

“For show?” Trev offers.

“Cause it’s sexy?” Bruce adds.

“Sexy it is,” Herc says, appearing at the side of the table with Yancy hanging off his arm.

Oh. 

Good for the pup. Seems his endless quest to get Hansen’s attention has finally ended in success. 

(With everyone in for Fleet Week, random sex in large quantities is pretty much par for the course for the wolf contingent in the PPDC. Yancy has been citing vague but apparently pleasant memories of Manila last year, before the Hansens took the Bite. Sleeping with humans. Bruce has never seen the appeal. But now, Alpha that he is, Bruce is pretty sure Herc’s going to _wreck_ that pup now.)

“Chuck finally stop cock-blocking you?” Bruce asks, point-blank.

Yancy blushes, and Herc runs a possessive hand around the back of his neck in a way that raises Bruce’s hackles. He knows he can’t keep the pup, not the way he’d like to, but... 

“I promised the pups a bit of an orgy,” Herc says smoothly, like he’s a wolf born and not some barely-Bit convert.

(Wolf. Alpha. Bruce has to admit, it’s a good look on him.)

“Orgy sounds good, doesn’t it, Rals?” Yancy adds, kicking at Raleigh’s leg.

Raleigh points at the stage. Somebody - maybe Horizon Brave’s crew, Bruce can’t tell - has claimed the current boy from where he was weaving between the poles, and the announcer is doing his lead-up for the next omega. A girl. “I thought that’s they were for.”

“Didn’t know you were that kinky,” Herc tells Raleigh drily, beer dangling from his fingers. All the expensive booze in the world, and he goes for beer. Seems about right, Bruce thinks. The Aussie turns to look at the stage, right as the curtains part and the new omega, a girl, comes out onto the catwalk to some introduction that’s probably BS but who knows? “She’s a looker, I can say that much for her.” He nudges Yancy. “You fancy a proper orgy? Reckon I can go get us one or two if you’d like. That’s how this works, right, Trev? Alphas only?”

“Yeah, just go up and get the one you want,” Trev says with a shrug, and points. “That one's apparently a virgin, if the announcer’s not full of shit.”

Yancy raises an eyebrow, but turns a bit for a better look at the stage. And freezes. “Oh, holy shit.”

“What?”

“Rals? Does that look like...”

“Jazmine,” Raleigh finishes, and looks at Bruce, horror in his eyes. “She’s fucking sixteen, Alpha. I thought you said this shit was above the board!”

“What the fuck is a Jazmine and why do I care?”

“She’s our sister.”

There are loud whoops rising from the crowd, and more than one person moving towards the stage, and yeah, even Bruce has to admit, that skinny little blonde she-wolf looks scared.

Herc looks at Yancy, and sets his beer down on the table.

Bruce just gives his twin brother a look. 

There are three of these Beckets now?

+++++

Jazmine knows who he is.

Everyone on the planet knows who he is.

Herc Hansen. Right-hand pilot of Striker Eureka. Record-holder for the most kaijuu killed to date, with six kills in Lucky Seven and two in Striker Eureka. 

But she only knows that because Raleigh and Yancy are pilots. She’s only here because Raleigh and Yancy are here. And why Raleigh and Yancy didn’t come get her, she doesn’t know.

But Ranger Hercules Hansen is the one standing in front of her with bloody knuckles and a calculating expression, and Jazmine's knees going weak, despite her resolve. This is not what she wanted, not at all what she set out for, not where she wants to be, naked on a narrow strip of black marble with metal burning her wrists - fought it hard, hard, hard, once they explained what they were going to do to her - but there’s something in her that just _howling_ with excitement.

She doesn’t understand any of this.

She feels like she’s on drugs. This must be what being on drugs feels like, right?

“Well, you are a pretty thing,” Ranger Hansen says, lifting her chin with his bloody hand, nails long and sharp against her cheek as he turns her face. “They give you a room number?”

She nods, like they told her to. If she can just get through this, keep this crawling need under her skin form exploding, maybe she can get out to Yancy and Raleigh later. “Three-oh-six.”

“Good. Go wait for me there, pretty girl.”

She wants to tell him no. To fuck off. That this is not at all what she wants - not what she intended at all. But she can’t help the way she leans into his touch; he’s gentle and strong and smells... oh god, he smells so good. “Okay,” she whispers, smiling at him.

He kisses her gently, and then somebody’s pulling her off stage.

Jazmine really doesn’t understand how she got here. She doesn’t. All she wanted were her brothers back. The state took her away after their dad fucking abandoned them, and then Raleigh kept running away in the middle of the night, and pretty soon, instead of finding him, they just shipped her off to California. So then she started running away, and eventually they stopped looking for her, and out on the street in San Francisco is where she heard the first rumors. About the PPDC. About werewolves. 

It was insane. But interdimensional alien sea monsters were insane.

So she went looking.

And then Knifehead took out Gipsy Danger, and her brothers were moved to the Seattle ‘Dome for rehabilitation, and Seattle couldn’t be worse than San Francisco, she figured, and mostly, it wasn’t. 

All she’d wanted was for somebody to Bite her. The wolves she’d found had told her that her brothers wouldn’t want her back if she was human. All she needed was the Bite, they’d said, and they were so nice, and the ‘Dome was so close, her brothers so close...

She hadn't expected to wake up in a cage. 

The world is spinning, but somebody takes her away, and there’s cold wood under her bare feet and she falls down on something soft, and the burning lifts off her wrists, and then there’s a hand on her cheek again, stroking her hair. 

“They give you anything?”

Jazmine blinks, trying to focus on the male voice in front of her. Power and strength and command and old old iron. He smells good too, like Ranger Hansen but not quite as good, because there’s irritation there too, anger, and the last thing she wants to do is make him angry. She quails. Tries to make herself small. “I don’t know,” she whines, and at least Ranger Hansen’s hand is back in her hair, stroking, petting, making her feel like she’s on fire in all the terrible-best ways.

“Look at her eyes, Bruce. What do you want to bet it’s some kaijuu shit?”

“Yeah, fuckers,” the wolf in front of her growls, and steps back. She reaches out for him, because she’s burning to be touched right now, but her hands close on nothing. “I want to see the club owner. Immediately. Not in my fuckin’ town.”

“It’s not our territory.”

“The whole West Coast is Uncle’s territory, Trev. Get Mother on the phone if you have to, this shit ain’t gonna...”

Their voices retreat as the room swells, and Jazmine feels like she’s going to crumble into dust. Except that good smell, Ranger Hansen, is back with an arm around her shoulders, holding her still. 

“Do you think you can walk, sweetie?”

She wants to nod. She wants to do what he’s telling her. She can’t not do what he's telling her.

But instead, she falls, and everything goes black.

+++++

_“I can’t just own some girl.”_

_“Of course you can. Is law. You lay claim as alpha, take her from pack, fight for her, she is yours. Is true, even if she not omega.”_

_“All I did was bring her back to the ‘Dome from that fucking bar. And punched the goons who tried to raise a stink in the alley.”_

_“Yes. Where is confusion?”_

_“Those were human traffickers!”_

_“Unfortunately we’ve got a criminal element, just like the human world does. Part of life, Herc. Don’t worry about it.”_

_“Don’t worry?”_

_“The gang that did this to her is going to be punished. Severely. Seattle’s alpha is out looking for them. They’ll be in custody and on the way down to our uncle by sun-up.”_

_"How did this happen to her? This omega bullshit?"_

_"She is young, helpless, scared. The Bite trigger those instincts, maybe. Is usually about longing, not fear, so I cannot give good answer."_

_“So what I am supposed to do with this girl?”_

_“Is good to have breeding bitch in pack. Pups are good to have.”_

_“My sister is not a puppy factory, Alpha Kaidanovsky.”_

_“If she do not want to be omega, she just fight her way out. Is... easy.”_

Jazmine just lays there in the dark and listens to the heated argument going on somewhere beyond this bed, anger echoing in Ranger Hansen’s voice. She doesn’t understand why everyone’s so upset; her head hurts and her mouth is dry.

“I have to take her?”

“She not good enough for you?”

"I'm not going to use some little girl like..."

“Wolves need pack, Herc. You toss her aside, Yancy can’t pick her up...”

“Bullshit, Trev, I can...”

“You are in no shape to be challenging anybody for pack leadership, pup. You’re lucky you’re alive after what happened to Gipsy...”

“So what? Herc’s gonna turn her into some loner? Like this? She's going to end up in another cage!”

“I have no intention of hurting your sister...”

“So you’re going to keep her?”

It’s been a long time since Jazmine heard her big brother’s voice, or heard him that angry. She forces herself to sit up, and as dizzy as she feels, she manages to get her feet on the floor and totter out of the room. 

She was naked before, she thinks - at least, it seems like she was - but now she’s got a t-shirt on. Too big for her, it comes halfway down her thighs, some kind of screen-print design on it, and it smells very, very good. Smells like Ranger Hansen, and she clings to it as she finds the room door and pushes out into the fighting beyond.

This wolf thing might be completely new, and she doesn’t know that much about it, but this pounding need in her chest to sink into that man’s arms is older than the Bite. All she’s wanted for so so long was a family again. She just wants her family back.

The voices are indistinct, half a dozen wolves all talking to each other, but it all goes quiet when she steps outside. Her stupid legs definitely aren’t working, and she sways hard, trying to hold herself up. She almost falls, and then Ranger Hansen is there again, catching her before she can topple over.

Jazmine half-expects him to be angry.

There’s just concern.

“They shot you up with drugs, sweetie. Go back to bed. Your body needs the rest.”

“I heard Yancy,” she whines, torn being wanting to pull away from him or sink back into his arms.

Everybody’s watching her, though - the Gages and the Kaidanovskies and Chuck Hansen and _everybody_ \- and she feels far more naked than she did on the stage.

“Alpha” - and why is Yancy kneeling on the floor like that? - “if you’re going to accept my sister into your pack, I would like to challenge for your beta position.”

She smells his surprise; he turns to look at her big brother. Raleigh’s there too, he sees, eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

“Yancy, we still haven’t ascertained if you have nerve damage,” and that’s somebody who Jazmine hadn’t seen yet at all, Marshall Pentecost, standing off by himself in a corner of the hotel suite and looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You are not cleared for combat.”

“I’m not talking about Gipsy, Marshall, I’m talking about fangs.” Yancy looks at Ranger Hansen. He looks resolved, but that’s the same way he looked the morning he told them Dad was gone but they were going to be fine. It’s bullshit. He’s terrified. “Echo Saber’s crew is on call back in Sydney, right? Right hand pilot's your beta right now. It’ll be a week before any of us are even in a geographic position for the match. I’ll win. I’m requesting permission.”

“If I want you.”

“If you want us, yes, Alpha.”

Ranger Hansen looks at him for a moment, and then Chuck’s at her side, taking her weight, and his father is all but stalking towards her brothers.

“I need him,” she whines, and even to her ears, there’s a distinctly inhuman quality to the sound.

Chuck just tugs her back into the bedroom. “C’mon, you heard what Dad said. Back to bed.”

But she holds her ground, because just then Ranger Hansen takes a handful of Yancy’s hair and yanks his head back at what has to be a very painful angle. “You think I’m going to take some broken ex-pilot into my pack just because his little sister’s in my den?”

Jazmine starting to feel hot, dizzy, like she could crawl out of her skin at any moment. “Yancy...” she whimpers, but Chuck slams a hand over her mouth.

“I’m still a fighter, Alpha, I can still warm your den, Raleigh and I can be anything you...”

“Who’s more important to you pups, eh? Me or your sister?” 

It’s compressing in now. She can’t hardly breathe. It feels like a panic attack... oh god, she can’t have a panic attack, not now, not like this, not again after...

But she sees Yancy’s eyes flick over to where the Gage twins are sitting on the edge of the room’s small coffee table, and then back to Ranger Hansen. “I would pledge my full loyalty to you, Alpha,” he pants.

“That’s not an answer to my question, Yancy.”

One of the Gages sits up a little. “Far as I know, Herc, the Beckets come as a set. Might as well take all three.”

“Figures she’d end up Bit too,” the other adds. “More trouble than they’re worth, really, but at least they’re easy on the eyes.”

She can’t take it anymore, and wrenches loose of Chuck’s grip, running on unsteady legs those last few feet towards her brothers. Her body contorts, jerks, tangling up in the shirt she’s still wearing, but just as she’s skidding into Raleigh’s waiting arms, everything goes still in her heart.

Raleigh’s holding her, practically wrapped around her. Yancy has a hand on her neck, and his face smells like tears. She feels small and insignificant but it doesn’t matter because she found them again. She wants to cry but she can’t, reduced to making nothing more right now than mournful little howls.

She’s home.

“Herc, if you’re agreeing to take this on...” Marshall Pentecost begins.

“How about everybody get the hell out of my pack’s business?” her new Alpha snaps back.

Jazmine closes her eyes and snuggles in, the rearrangement of her body perfectly suited to get close, close, close in as everything moves around them.

Finally the room goes quiet, the door closing out all disruption, and there’s a third set of hands on her. Jazmine lays her wolf-head on Raleigh’s shoulder to see Chuck Hansen there, slowly stroking her ear. She closes her eyes again, and hopes her brothers don’t tell him that she used to have the biggest crush on him. 

That could be really awkward.


	6. Chapter 6

Mako still has grease in her hair when she finally stumbles into the 'Dome commander's office. It had been all she could do to get herself dug out of Gipsy's left knee and into the office when she got word she was being summoned.

When Sensei says _be here_ , Mako is here. Always. She's never disobeyed him. She respects him far too much to be discourteous like that.

But it's not Sensei who's waiting for her.

Not just Sensei, anyway.

It's Sensei and Colonel Gage and Ranger Hansen.

Sensei has a small box in front of him. Paper. Printed with cherry blossoms.

Ranger Hansen looks as good as he ever does. Even if it is rather confusing for him to be here. When did he get in from Sydney?

Colonel Gage looks, at best, bored. But then, he usually looks like that. It's the wolf in him.

She walks over to where she thinks she's supposed to stand, throws a salute, bows when he bows, and hopes the apprehension she's feeling isn't showing on her face. Why is Ranger Hansen here? To rub it in? To tell her that Colonel Gage is going to be piloting with Raleigh, when Pitfall comes?

(Yancy, wolf healing or not, never fully recovered from his six hours in the Baltic Sea, or so Raleigh says. Lieutenant Colonel Gage, Trevin, is still recuperating from his more recent amputation. But maybe Colonel Gage - Bruce - has finally been cleared to pilot. Mako knows he's a better choice, far better, of course he is, but her heart still falls to see him here.)

"I understand that you and Raleigh Becket have been making great strides on Gipsy Danger's rebuild here in Hong Kong," Sensei says without preamble. "May I assume this is true?"

She nods. "Yessir, her restoration is about ninety-five percent complete, with additional modification pending the procurement cycle for this upcoming fiscal..."

He waves her words off. "May I also assume that the reports of you and Raleigh Becket training in the Kwoon together are also true?"

Oh shit. 

"Yessir," she says, more hesitant. "But this... this is strictly for practice. For him."

"You and him have some of the best physical compatibility I've seen in a long time," Colonel Gage says drily. "All the more astonishing considering that Raleigh's a wolf, and you're not."

Mako doesn't know what to make of any of that. "I..." she begins, mind stumbling as the Japanese words fight for the English for space in her voice. _I know your heart, Sensei, I would never defy you, I know the Gage pack has a strict policy on the Bite, I know Raleigh is not strong or senior enough, I did not intend to ask Raleigh if I could pilot with him even though you know, you know, you know I should_. "I am human, so I had thought Colonel Gage would be taking Gipsy,” Mako finishes quietly, heart hammering in her ears now.

“Bruce has better compatibility with Yancy than Raleigh,” Ranger Hansen says casually. “Not that either of them need to be piloting. No offense, Bruce, but I don’t want Yancy out there unless we have no other choice.”

“None taken. I wouldn’t consider my beta expendable either.”

Sensei opens the box and oh, he has her shoe. That red shoe she was clutching like a lifeline the morning he rescued her, when he took her away from the place of her family's death, when he curled up around her and let her cry herself to sleep in his fur.

"A long time ago I made you a promise," Sensei says, and hands her the box. 

Mako’s hands are shaking. 

This, this means...

She clutches it to her chest, bows, and beats an almost panicked retreat from the room.

+++++

Mako had never been afraid of the PPDC’s wolves.

She was a little girl, grieving and angry and so alone, when Sensei first took her home.

He and Tamsin had been careful with her for the first month or so, but she had known they were different. Special. When she asked about it, Sensei shifted for her. 

From then on out, Mako slept every night she could curled up in his fur. He is her place in the world. When she had gone off to Jaeger Academy, she longed to return to him. And no matter how friendly others in the Corps were, how accepting packs like the one here in L.A. were, or how gentle wolves like Raleigh treated her, she has always been hesitant to wander too far from Sensei’s side.

Wander, or come any closer.

They had talked about her taking the Bite, but she had never considered it very seriously. Sensei was Alpha of the PPDC, but it was largely ceremonial. Back when he had piloted, he had been the beta to the Tokyo ‘Dome’s Alpha, and now as Marshall, he was too busy with official duties to manage his own pack. There wouldn’t have been a place for her to inhabit, nothing more than what she already had. There were wolves, yes, comfort and security and familiarity, but no family.

And as horrible as they had been to her, disowning her for no greater sin than being born a girl, Mako still had her human family. Their legacy. Their blood. Their name. Taking the Bite, becoming a wolf, meant giving them up. 

It meant giving up the last remnant of her mother and father. For nothing else.

At least, that was how it always seemed to her. 

“Herc said you took off on him,” Raleigh says, sitting down next to her, cross legged on the smooth pine floor. “He said you looked kind of scared.”

Mako doesn’t answer right away, shifting on the tatami mat in the ‘Dome’s little makeshift Shinto temple. They have a proper multipurpose chapel here, but it’s largely set up for the Christians on base. There are plenty of Buddhist temples scattered about the island of Hong Kong, but even that isn’t what Mako normally feels drawn to. There are a few dozen Japanese personnel here though, so over the years, a small corner of the grounds have been slowly turned into a shrine area. 

It’s a nice space, set up in an old unused briefing room. Nothing special here, just a little shrine housed in a small building set up in the middle of the room, traditional in design but put together with scrounged materials, a little potted garden set up admits a deep bed of raked gravel. There’s a pleasant fountain, gurgling out its organic white noise. Here, a person can almost forget they’re inside. Mako’s pretty sure it’s a project that’s as much about having a little slice of home as it is any kind of proper worship, but she’s not worried about how seriously her fellow countrymen regard tradition. A little self-contained world.

For her, it’s a place to meditate in stillness. It may not be the connection to the forest she craves here, but it is peaceful.

Her father had been a creature of the forest; she had grown up there in peace, until the kaijuu came.

“I should apologize to Ranger Hansen,” Mako says, not really looking at him. Embarrassing. Why had she done that? “It is not right, to be ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?”

“You know, Sensei never wanted me to be a pilot, but I insisted,” she says. “He was proud when I graduated. First human in a few years.”

“But you’re an interesting human,” Raleigh tells her, and that, that gets her looking at him. He smiles. “I like you.”

Mako taps her heart. “I was always afraid that if I took in the shifter magic, if I became part of a pack, I would lose what remains of my family. I would no longer be a Mori.”

And Raleigh reaches over to squeeze her hand. _”We are family too,”_ he tells her in Japanese.

_”Yes, of course. But it is different.”_

_“You need the Bite, if you want to pilot with me. It’s not safe otherwise.”_

_“And what about everything else? Between you and me?”_ she asks, lifting her hand to wind her fingers through his.

Raleigh pulls her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. _”We all belong to our Alpha, but that just means he holds us together. Herc will want you to be with him, but he won’t begrudge us each other, if that’s what you want._ ”

Over the months Raleigh has been here working on this project with her, ever since the PPDC lost most of its UN funding, since facilities started getting mothballed, he has desperately missed his pack. Mako knows this. But she also knows that their connection is deep, and real, and she desperately wants to see where this goes.

She wants to pilot the machine she’s so lovingly rebuilt.

She wants to know what it’s like to be part of a real pack.

And sitting there, with Raleigh’s body so close to hers, her hand in his hand, she realizes that her family would have wanted this for her. This chance. This opportunity.

Who says she’s losing anything?

She smiles a little. “I have always had a crush on Ranger Hansen.”

“See? It’ll be easy.” Raleigh leans in, nuzzles her. “It’ll be fine, Mako. You’ll see.” He kisses her cheek, more familiar than erotic. He’s tactile, like all wolves are, but in the months they’ve been together, this is the closest he’s let himself get to her. “Our Alpha will take care of you.”

She nods.

Raleigh smiles, and pulls out his cell phone.

+++++

Half an hour after she fled Stacker’s office, and five minutes after Raleigh sent that text, Herc finds Mako curled around Raleigh in the little Japanese room at the far end of the ‘Dome. Raleigh’s shifted, his golden wolf form sprawled out on the floor of the little shrine, with Mako curled into him.

The box Stacker gave Mako is laid neatly beside Raleigh’s clothes.

When Stacker had asked to borrow Raleigh for help with this Gipsy restoration project, Herc had reckoned this might be the outcome. Stacker’s never been keen on Mako crawling into the conn-pod, but his worry has been exponentially compounded by the fact that Mako always refused the Bite. Very politely, but always refused.

“Can we finish Gipsy in Sydney?” He asks her now, as gently as he can. She’s nervous; Herc can smell it on her. He’s spoken to Stacker about this at length, one Alpha requesting permission from another to take one of his young females into his own pack. One father promising another he’ll take good care of his baby girl. She doesn’t need to be scared. Herc could never hurt her. He’s always been fond of Stacker’s little foundling. She’s grown into a strong, beautiful, fierce young woman. She’ll make an amazing wolf. Be quite the asset to the pack.

(Because Herc fully intends to live through this damn war, to get his whole pack through this war, find them a nice big plot of land somewhere and settle down. Give them all the time and space to just be young, to be whole in what they are, bask in their happiness. Maybe have a few pups. Jaz has been asking.)

She blinks. “I suppose.”

“Good,” he says, and holds out a hand for her. “I’ll need you with the pack, after we do this. I’ll need you with me.”

Mako looks back at Raleigh, who noses her up. 

She nods, and reaches out. “Can we do it here?” She asks.

“Of course, love,” Herc tells her, and slides into the little shrine, laying a hand over her heart. “Welcome to the family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally found my notes. It’s a little sketchy, but this whole fix kind of is... I wrote this in part for the next/last chapter, so i’ll Work on that this week!


	7. Chapter 7

Scott reckons he’s got a pretty good plan. Worked it out on the plane ride back here, back home to Sydney and the ‘Dome and a whole bunch of things he never wanted to see again.

Try to work things out with his brother.

Find a way to apologize to Chuck for whatever the fuck it is he’s done to the sprog.

Avoid the rest of the pack as much as he can.

Get the fuck out as soon as items one and two are accomplished.

Go do... something. Anything. Anything but this.  Sure, it accounts to nothing in the end, but honestly, where does he fit in anymore?

He’s not pack.  Barely family anymore.

Seems completely workable.

Their arrival back to the ‘Dome is met with little fanfare.  It’s late in the afternoon when they landed, late enough for most people to have already gone home. The place feels deserted, as they leave the flight line, out through the quiet ops building (it used to be so loud) and on out to some SUV that Scott can only assume is Herc’s personal staff car (when before it was just some beat-up pre-war Land Rover). 

Unlike the Shatterdome in Hong Kong, built for efficiency on an island where space was always at a premium, the Sydney ‘Dome is configured more like a traditional military base; roads, buildings, grocery store, housing.  Typical shit.  During the war, it had been a comforting reminder of normalcy.  Right now, it’s somehow both nerve-wracking and nostalgic.

“Quiet,” Scott comments to Herc, as Yancy drives them back through the wide, empty streets.

His brother twists in his seat, eyes flashing red. “Not on a war footing anymore. Normal hours.”

“Normal was the war footing,” Scott replies.

“Things change.”

Yeah. Doesn’t he fucking know it? Scott doesn’t say anything. What’s he supposed to say to this man? This werewolf? Fucking Alpha of the Pacific Rim. Not his blood anymore, and that was the last thing he had left in the world.  All Scott ever had was Herc and Chuck, and they’re both gone.  Across a gulf he can’t cross.  

His heart won’t pump that blood.

His face starts to throb, old pain spreading out like poison, pumped out by the muscle spasm.

Herc seems like he wants to say something, but Scott leans his head on the window and focuses on breathing through it.

Outside, the base rolls by.

Scott hasn’t been here in years, but he knows exactly where they’re going.  Up to the old leadership housing area, where Command used to have all its quarters.  Herc’s got the old installation commander’s mansion, but all the surrounding houses have been torn down.  They’ve got at least an acre now, and the place always backed up on the unkempt expanse of open land and running trails, so it all has a feeling of being out in the middle of nowhere.

(As long as Scott doesn’t look down towards the ocean, and the hangars, and everything they used to be. Lucky’s long gone, and that’s his fault. Couldn’t handle it. Just couldn’t handle it.)

It’s a pleasant house, though.  Scott’s always thought so.  
Except this is where Herc’s pack lives now.  Herc’s pack.  Herc may be the Alpha of the PPDC, the final authority figure for hundreds of wolves in dozens of packs all around the Pacific, and he may be the direct report for every wolf on base, but he’s also just the leader of his own little family.  Yancy and Raleigh and Chuck at least, from what Scott can tell. 

Here, there are wolves waiting, though.  There’s one in her fur, inky black with keen gold eyes.  Out on the front step.

Scott gets out of the car, shuts the door, but can’t take a step forward.

“That’s Mako,” Chuck says quietly, coming up beside him.  “She’s been with us since Pitfall.”

“So Stacks finally let her take the Bite,” Scott huffs.  Stacker had always been so protective of the little sprog.  “Makes sense.  It’s too much of a risk, lettin’ a human jockey with a wolf.”

“Uncle Scott, it’s not like...” Chuck starts, but is cut off by the sound of the front door banging open and  the happy squeal of a blonde girl racing barefoot down the front drive.

“Alpha!” she’s laughing, and Herc drops his bag to swing her up in his arms, kissing her deeply.  

Scott feels something in his chest crack.

Great.

+++++

Turns out, there’s a third Becket.

She’s a third Becket.

Three.  Three of them.  One of them an Omega female, and how that happened, Scott’s got no idea.  She seems nice enough, but Scott remembers the ‘Dome Omega from back before he let Herc talk him into letting Sasha Kaidanovsky gnaw on his neck.  Back then, that Omega had been everybody’s cumrag.  He never thought Herc would do something like that to somebody, least of all some cute slip of a thing like Jazmine.

And the worst part is, it feels...normal.  For as disconcerting as it all is - the scent of werewolves, the extra bodies - it feels like home.

Not that their family was ever normal, not growing up.  Theirs was a house of too much alcohol and not enough money.  No, this feels like what Herc’s home felt like, before Scissure hit.  Warm and safe and comfortable.  Scott hadn’t ever gotten to spend as much time there as he liked, but the days he did get, he used to savor.  Only thing missing is maybe another bulldog; Angela always liked to have at least two dogs around.  But the basics are the same.

Right down to the telltale little piles of children’s toys in the corners of the main rooms, which don’t make any sense, but maybe Jaz is pregnant or something.  (Scott doesn’t want to ask, he really doesn’t).

It’s all painfully familiar.

Except for the werewolf thing.

Scott eats as quickly as he can. 

He just wants this to be over with. 

And somewhere in all of it, he just can’t deal anymore. Jaz and Raleigh are laughing about something on Raleigh’s phone, Chuck and Mako are chattering away in happy Japanese, Yancy’s giving Herc a rundown of some daily event and Herc’s contentedly drinking his beer, and it’s too tight. Like a circuitry suit that’s not fit right. His skin is on fire and his face is throbbing, and Scott’s pretty sure his jaw muscles won’t chew another bite of food anyway.

“You have a guest room?” he asks, determined to get through this. Fucking wolves. He doesn’t belong here, not with them, never has, but he can ignore that clamoring in his chest. The scared little prey animal, screaming at him to run.

Yancy looks at him, up over the top of his second steak.  “Tendo and Allison aren’t back from Hawaii for another couple of days.  You can have their room.”

Scott raises an eyebrow.  “Tendo and Allison?”

“Yeah, Tendo, like LOCCENT...”

“We went through the Academy with Tendo, mate.  I know who he bloody well is,” Scott snaps, tired and frustrated.

Everyone stops talking.

Herc sets his beer down, but doesn’t say anything.  

Of course, it’s his beta, Yancy - the number two bloke in the pack and the one whose sacred job it is to keep the Alpha from dealing with petty annoyances - whose job it is to fix the problem.

“No doubt,” the American Ranger replies.  “Tendo and his mate joined our pack after Pitfall.  Allison’s family pack wanted to see her and it’s easier to travel right now before she’s too much further along...”

“Oi, Tendo’s having a kid?”

Yancy doesn’t answer.  

Herc sighs.  “Allison’s having her second.”  

Oh.

Right.

Herc’s the Alpha.  Which means any children born into the pack will likely be his.

Werewolves.

Scott can feel a headache forming.  “Do you have a room that’s not theirs?”

Jaz gives Raleigh his phone back.  “I’ll get you settled,” she declares, and saunters out of the room.

Scott reckons he’s to follow her.

Max comes trotting after them.

+++++

“We have a couple of rooms the rest of us use from time to time,” Jaz narrates, leading him up the stairs.  “Plus every wolf in the ‘Dome answers to Herc.  They come over sometimes too.  But, you know, we all like our space sometimes.”

“How much space does an Omega get?” Scott replies, bone-tired now.  He should have stayed in fucking Darwin.  

“As much as she wants,” Jaz replies, flashing him a smile.  She really is a pretty girl.  Not that he ever had much use for sheilas; he’s been able to adit that much to himself in the years since he went walkabout from the ‘Dome.  “I’m even working on college.”

“Yeah?  What for?”

“Literature,” she says, and smiles wider.  “I like it, and it’s fun, and, you know.  Nice to do human things still sometimes.  Until our Alpha puts a pup in me, at least.  That’s gonna be fun too.” 

Scott is not going to acknowledge that.  The ‘Dome pack had lacked kids, but the civilian wolves they dealt with said it was pretty common for a pack to half at least half a dozen of the little buggers around.  Herc with a bunch of kids.  He doesn’t know how he feels about that at all.

Angie and Chuck.  That’s the way things had been, back when they were all still human together.  Angie and Chuck… they weren’t really together, even back then, were they now? Herc’s always had somebody else.

“You were born human, right?”

“Just like you,” she says and bumps her shoulder against his.  “But things work out for the best sometimes.”

The room’s nice.  Small, but nice, with a double bed and a window that opens out onto the open parkland beyond housing.  Smells clean, like fresh laundry, that wild woodsmoke scent of the wolves lesser here.  Must have been a while since anybody decided to ditch out on Herc for a night.

“I’m still human,” Scott says.

The smile on Jaz’s lips falters.  “Oh,” she says.  “I’m sorry, I just figured... you know, Raleigh and Yancy got the Bite at the same time and they were pilots and...” she shrugs.  “You and Herc did all that piloting as humans?”

“Most of it.”

“That’s amazing.” And the awe on her face is genuinely not faked. How did she not know that, Scott wonders.

“Not really.  Gettin’ turned into a monster wasn’t exactly in the brochure.”

Jaz casts around, unsure of what to do with herself.  “Well, umm, this room’s has a bathroom attached and there’s fresh towels and stuff in there, so you’re all good to go.”  

There was a slight pride in her voice, though, one that Scott recognized.  “You take care of all this, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.  You’re all my boys,” she tells him and snaps her fingers.  “C’mon, Max.”

The bulldog just lays his fat body against Scott’s calf and pants at her.

Scott lets Max curl up on the bed that night.  

Scott doesn’t sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuse for how I haven't finished this, or other stuff I have out there. Like I said somewhere else, I'm engaged and trying to get all that pulled together. Plus, I mean, everything but the Newt/Hermann ship seems to have burned out and life is catching up and I really, really do need to get some actual short stories published.
> 
> I never did have very good timing on when to pull out of a fandom... makes me a bit sad but it was definitely what I needed when I really needed it. I'm going to try to finish everything out, but no promises! One more chapter after this. Figured I'd post what I have and finish the rest up... hopefully this week.


End file.
